Part 16 (1/2)

Which was good, because right now, all Poppy wanted was to get out of yesterday's clothes, whether her husband was being a jacka.s.s or not.

”Do you want me to go in with you?” Alice asked.

”No,” Poppy said. ”I'm sick of being scared.” She gave quick air kisses to Alice and wished her good luck in Orlando, wondering if Alice knew that Poppy envied her, with her nice, normal family, and play dates with her granddaughter filled with glitter and sequins.

She marched through the garage and into the house. She said h.e.l.lo to Nola, who was scrubbing the kitchen, then asked if she knew where the mister was.

”I brought lunch into the study. For him and that other man.”

Man?

”Duane has a guest?” Poppy asked, trying to feign surprise. ”Who?”

Nola shrugged her shoulders and returned to her mop and pail. ”Mr. Duane said the man is his brother. I didn't know that he had one.”

Twenty-seven.

On her way to the study, Poppy stopped in the powder room and tried to look better than she felt.

Duane's brother?

The one who'd bankrupted the family silver mine?

Her light blue eyes reflected perplexity. Had Duane ever mentioned his brother's name?

At least it isn't a woman, she reminded herself. At least it wasn't a harlot that Duane had brought home to mock their marriage and force Poppy into making a decision she would rather put off because divorce was so unpleasant and who had time for that?

At least it wasn't a conspirator in blackmail.

It was his brother, for crying out loud.

Rearranging her hair as best she could, she wondered if she'd been too hard on Duane. She dabbed on lipstick and pinched her cheeks. She wished she could take a shower and change her clothes before meeting her brother-in-law.

She wondered if he'd be as nice as Yolanda's brother.

She smiled again and put both hands in her pockets. Then she touched something with her right hand. She pulled out the card. Manny's card.

Detective Manuel Valdes.

Twelfth precinct.

Brooklyn, New York.

A s.h.i.+ver s.h.i.+vered through her. She shoved the card back in her pocket, hoping she'd remember to remove it before sending the jeans to the laundry. Not that she'd ever use it. Not that she needed a cop in her life.

”Duane?” Poppy called from the doorway into the study. ”Darling, I'm home. I didn't know we had company.” She slowly crossed the rosewood floor to where the two men sat facing one another, on opposite sides of the big desk. A pile of papers was strewn over the top.

Politely, the men stood in unison.

”Poppy,” Duane said, ”my lovely bride. We missed you last night.”

She slow-blinked her lashes, a reaction to being called lovely. ”Momma had a spell. I fell asleep, and then it was too late to call.”

”Oh, poor Momma. How is she today?”

He had always acted as if he liked her mother, though Momma said he knew she could see right through him. ”She's better. Now please, introduce me to our guest.”

The visitor stepped forward and offered his hand. ”Fred Manley. Duane's brother.” He was older than Duane and had weathered, too-much-sun skin. The resemblance, however, was striking, though instead of a polo s.h.i.+rt, he had on denim, and instead of Ralph Lauren pants, he wore washed-out jeans. Oh, yes, and he had on a belt with a big silver buckle. And leather-tooled cowboy boots on his feet.

”Well, well,” Poppy said as he took her hand and kissed it with dry lips. ”I guess it's time that we met.”

”If I'd have known how pretty you are, I wouldn't have wasted all these years.”

He apparently had the gift of sweet talk, like Duane. She wondered what Momma would have to say about that. ”So,” Poppy asked, retrieving her hand, ”to what do we finally owe the pleasure?”

Duane folded his arms and puffed out his cheeks. ”Fred has a plan to reopen the mine.”

”The silver mine?”

”Yes,” Fred said. ”And I've brought you a small gift.”

He picked up a square of black velvet that sat on the desk. He folded back the corners and offered it to Poppy. Nested atop the velvet were several pieces of gleaming silver. Uncut, unstamped, glorious silver.

If Momma had been there, she'd have just died.

”Do you like it?” Duane asked. ”I told Fred how much you love silver.”

If he was being sarcastic about what he called the family's ”eccentricity,” she decided to ignore it. ”Well,” Poppy said, ”it is lovely, isn't it?”

”And there's plenty more where that came from,” he said. ”I've had my men out there looking. They found a huge vein. All I need is to convince my little brother here to come home and give me a hand.”

Home? Was he asking them to move to Nevada?

”Whoa,” Duane said. ”We have a few other matters to discuss first. Like logistics, brother Fred. I mean, Poppy and I live here in New York. I have no intention of pulling up stakes and going away from poor Momma. Especially now that the spells are back.”

Had he moved from sarcasm to being condescending? She'd never been good at deciphering Duane. ”Duane's right,” she said with caution. ”I couldn't leave Momma now.” Her gaze fell back to the pretty pieces of silver.

”No problem. After things are up and running, we'll have enough cash flow for you to rent a jet. You can come back and forth on weekends. Once we have a strong workforce, once a month ought to do it.”